


Chlorine

by moriartyfortheevening



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-25 05:21:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9804311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moriartyfortheevening/pseuds/moriartyfortheevening
Summary: A drabble based on something I thought I read off Tumblr, about Jim floating in the pool at midnight. I don't remember exactly but I could get it out of my head.





	

‘The pool. Midnight. -JMx’ 

How long had it been since Sherlock had last heard from Jim Moriarty? A year? A day? A single heartbeat, which lasted forever? Sherlock wasn't sure as he read the familiar text, complete with a flirtation only capable of by the consulting criminal. 

Sherlock thoughts drifted to the last time he had an interaction with the man. It had ended with Moriarty blowing his brains out and himself jumping off Bart’s Hospital to his supposed death. Messy. Sherlock couldn't however deny the thrill of the chase. How clever it was for Moriarty to completely erase himself from the record and replace it with a timid man named Richard Brook. Oh, how clever and so simple! But he was anything but simple, that man was like the most complex algorithm, like the sea during a lightning storm and it made Sherlock’s heart skip a beat thinking about it. 

Sherlock glanced at the clock, tearing his mind away from the thoughts of the cool perfection that was the Napoleon of Crime. The clock read half past eight, enough time for Sherlock to get prepared.It would not do well for him to be late, Sherlock had learned over the years that Moriarty was not a patient man. Sherlock changed quickly, pulling a clean black suit from the hanger inside of the wardrobe after showering. Pulling on the suit, Sherlock took time gelling his unruly curls down and making sure he smelt decent.   
Grabbing his phone and key, Sherlock made his way down the steps and out onto the curb, bypassing Mrs Hudson in the next room over, sleeping off her “soothers”.  

The night was warm for an August evening, a heat wave had passed over London the last few weeks, making the busy city a cesspool of sweat and filthy hot air. Sherlock hailed a cab, climbing in and giving the address to the driver before leaning back and thinking heavily on to what the irishman had in store for the two of them. They hadn’t officially said anything about their relationship to anyone, mostly for security reasons and the fact that labels were boring and dull, easily predictable and irritable to deal with at best. But the two had met during several occasions, secluded from the rest of the world, where they could drop their personally crafted personas and be themselves. The had talked about all sorts of things, from politics to art to quantum physics and the solar system (that is, until Moriarty found out that Sherlock knew absolutely nothing about it and laughed at him until the sun came up.) Sherlock was positively certain that he'd never hear the last of it. 

The cab slowly rolled to a stop, jolting the detective away, once again, from the warm, handsome, devil thoughts. He paid the driver and climbed out, making sure that it was a random person and not the man we was suppose to meet. He didn't want to make that same mistake again. When Sherlock was satisfied with the results of the man in the front seat, sherlock turned and made his way inside the, slightly, propped open door that waited for him. 

It was dark in the pool, save for a single light shining on the chlorinated water. Sherlock walked around the quiet space, noting that a highly expensive suit was draped carefully over a metal chair, the italian shoes, by the looks of them, perfectly squared underneath. Sherlock hardly breathed, it seemed rude to interrupt the stillness that hung over the building, so the tall man waited, looking into the shadowy waters. A ripple churned over the surface, snapping Sherlock's gaze to the center of the pool, where the man that Sherlock had missed for so long, sat. 

Moriarty said nothing, nor looked towards the detective as he floated on a black pool ring. Sherlock admired the calmness that Moriarty poised. He couldn’t help but stare at the lean man, wearing nothing but his pants as he lazily swirled the water in tiny circles with his left hand. 

“Shh,” murmured Moriarty, rolling his head to look at the tall man, “ I can positively hear you think. Too loud, Dearest.” Sherlock blinked a few times, trying to deduce whether this was a trap or not and what Moriarty’s motive were. He stared some more, now into the deep, dark orbs of his nemesis. But was Jim Moriarty his nemesis anymore? Sure, they chased each other in proverbial circles, battling with only their wits (and sometimes their tongues, but Sherlock wasn't about to admit to that just yet) Moriarty stared equally back, his face a blank slate of passive emotions and then he beckoned,

“Join me, it’s been far too long.” Like being on autopilot, Sherlock removed his sock and shoes, slipping off his trousers, blazer and button up, until he matched the other man. He wasn't quite sure what he had gotten himself into, but the pull towards the other genius was like lightning on a metal rod and Sherlock found himself slipping quietly into the cool water. 

“What do you want, Moriarty?” asked Sherlock, swimming slowly up to where the madman floated. 

“I think we are on a first name basis, wouldn’t you agree my dear?” quipped Jim with an airy laugh, looking down at the detective. Jim. It was strange to think of the other man as such after being apart for this long extension of time. He had certainly grown more beautiful and elegant, the sun had kissed the criminal’s skin and Sherlock could only guess at where he had been for the last couple years. The worry lines, frustration in his brows, and the dark bags under his eyes from lack of sleep that Sherlock had last seen the man wear, had also melted off in his absence, leaving the consulting criminal looking radiant and he daresay, happy.  

“You look..well,” stammered Sherlock, trying to wrap his brain around the perfect words to say. He honestly didn't know what to say and made this him nervous. Jim smirked, that cocky, self-assured smirk that drove Sherlock crazy. 

“Checking me out, are we?” replied Jim, raising an eyebrow at the other man. Sherlock swallowed and shrugged, unsure of what he would say if he opened his mouth. 

“Liar!” sang Jim, rolling off his tube into the water. He wrapped his arms around the detective and planted the softest kiss on those cupid shaped lips. 

“Mm, delicious.” Jim practically moaned. Sherlock’s brain spiked at the sensual words, wanting nothing more that to curl himself around the criminal and to speak with him until the sun came up, hidden away from the cold light of morning. Sherlock pulled away from the irishman, swimming back to the side and climbed out. Dressing quickly, Sherlock looked over at his nemesis and asked,

“Coming?” Jim followed.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry for the poor grammar. I am new to A03 and dont exactly know how to use the HTML formatting to make it correct. I'll figure it out eventually, I'm sure.


End file.
